


Making It Easy

by Momokai



Series: Idiot's Love Story [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Current rating is for language, Eventual dorks in love, He's his own warning tbh, Humor, I'll add more tags as i go, Idiotry abounds, M/M, Nyx Ulric - Freeform, Rapid updates, Rating subject to change, Slash, The Author Regrets Everything, The not so slowest of burns, Unbeta'd we typo like men, Watch me go, What am I doing, these two clownshoes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 12:31:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momokai/pseuds/Momokai
Summary: A series of mostly linear shorts set in my new Idiots Love Story verse.Or:Nyx and Noct are like children pulling each others pig-tails on the playground and they're the only ones who don't see it.(On Hiatus due to life issues, but these idiots will keep being idiots soon enough, I promise)





	1. Sneak

Despite what some might believe, being a Royal wasn’t easy. Most days, it was so far from easy it would drive anyone insane. The constant public attention, the back breaking pressure, the mind numbing expectation, all of it.

And the knowledge that one day, it would all get worse. Being Crown Prince was one thing, but being King? 

Noctis grunted as he shoved open his bedroom window. What he was doing was most probably reckless and quite juvenile, but needs must, and he needed to. 

He poked his head out into the cool night air and peered down- checking and then double checking that there were no patrolling Crownsguard before he climbed up onto the sill. Once certain that the coast was clear, Noctis materialised a dagger -no bedsheet ropes for him- and threw it at the nearest bush, before he allowed his essence to chase after the blade a moment before it embedded itself in the ground. The warp only lasted a bare second, and Noctis touched down on the grass as quietly as he could muster. 

After a quick glance about his surroundings to make sure the faint crackle of his magic hadn’t attracted any attention, the Prince snatched up his dagger and hurriedly sidled into the shrubbery. He felt a little bit like some kind of felon as he made his way from the Citadel grounds, crouched low and darting between clusters of greenery. Or an assassin. That’d be pretty cool. He had his black hoodie, all he needed now was a sweet wrist blade and he’d be set. 

Someone sneezed nearby, and Noctis froze mid-step, caught out in the open between two hedges. Idly, he thought he must make a comical sight, clad in dark jeans and a black hoodie pulled up to hide his face- caught mid-sneak like something out of cartoon.

Movement caught his eye by the fountain, and Noctis inwardly cursed before he dove the rest of the way into his next area of cover. The approaching Crownsguard strode along the path closer to the Citadel’s walls, and the Prince hunkered down in the hedge and barely dared to breathe as the guard paused several feet away. For a moment, Noctis thought he’d been spotted after all, but after a few more seconds, the Crownsguard pitches forward slightly to sneeze somewhat brutally. After a quiet curse and some noisy sniffling, the guard continued on, and the Prince breathed a sigh of relief. Before snorting. 

“Poor guy.” He murmured to himself as the Crownsguard sneezed again in the distance. Shrugging the encounter off, he sidled out of the hedge and made a bee-line for the next. He continued on in the same fashion until he made it to his intended escape point, thankfully having no more close encounters with the Guard along the way. 

Noctis pressed his back against a rather large tree- his tried and tested method of escaping the Citadel grounds entirely- and peered around. Upon finding no one patrolling or otherwise standing about -One time he’d done this and found his dad of all people just loitering in the garden. He hadn’t known who was more startled, himself or his dad- the Prince warped as quietly as he could manage up into the tree. 

He moved quickly, climbing the rest of the way to the top until he reached the ideal branch, the one that hung out just so above the Citadel wall. Somewhere in the tree a twig snapped, but after a moment of frozen silence, Noctis passed it off as a night bird and redrew his dagger to toss it the rest of the way to freedom. He wound his arm back and blinked as his elbow abruptly came into contact with something soft. 

“Nice night for a stroll little Prince?”

Noctis swore up and down that the scream he loosed in that moment was absolutely manly.


	2. Me

Noctis wheezed as he hurtled down the halls of the Citadel, legs pumping frantically beneath him as his body threatened to collapse from overexertion. His lungs burned from the abuse he was putting them through, and he swore he could hear his blood rushing in his ears as he twisted around a startled maid and swiftly warped over a banister.

“Noct! Get your skinny ass back here so I can kick it!” A voice roared a few halls back, and Noctis choked out a snicker as he kicked off a wall to avoid a cursing Crownsguard.

“Excuse me, pardon me, coming through!” He called out as he weaved between startled Citadel staff. He was probably gonna cop a faceful of hell for this later, -he was still copping it from last week damn it- but in the moment he found he didn’t care. 

He’d been up to his neck in ‘punishment’ since he’d been busted sneaking out, why not make it to his eyeballs. 

It was all that damn Glaives fault.

“You can’t run forever!” His pursuer bellowed, and Noctis squeaked as a hulking shape barreled out into the hall almost directly behind him. 

“Got ya!” Gladiolus Amicitia growled as he reached out to snatch at the Prince’s shirt, only to curse as Noctis phased out of the hold at the last second. 

Noctis hit the breaks and phased again, causing Gladio to fly past him with another curse. 

“Gotta do better than that, Gladdy.” He taunted before turning tail and bolting. Gladio growled behind him, but the Prince didn’t stick around to find out any more than that. He legged it straight for the nearest exit. 

He reached one a few harrowing minutes later after leading his Shield on a merry chase through the Citadel, and had managed to gain some ground during in the meantime. He shouldered the door open with perhaps more force than strictly necessary and staggered out into a courtyard. He hunched forward and planted his hands on his knees, sparing a brief moment to pant and try to get some oxygen back through his brain before darting his eyes around for his next route. He wouldn’t be able to keep the brutal pace up for much longer, and he knew Gladio was banking on that fact. 

‘All the more reason for training,’ his pasty Lucian ass. Cor’s idea of ‘fitting’ punishment.

Blue eyes scanned his surroundings, before falling on a promising escape route. 

“Hey, you, Glaive, help!” He panted, before forcing himself to straighten. The Glaive in question turned around from where he’d been watching over the rest of the courtyard, and Noctis froze.

“Me. Glaive.” The Glaive parroted with a smirk, and Noctis thrust a finger at him.

“You!” He snarled. 

“Me.” The Glaive replied nonchalantly as he settled into an easy parade rest. Noctis felt his eyebrow twitch. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He growled, because this was the asshole from last week. The Glaive that had snuck up on him in the tree and scared the ever loving shit out of him, the Glaive that had handed him over to Cor, the Glaive that had ruined his damn plans and gotten him in trouble. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I thought it was monosyllables day.” The Glaive retorted with a shrug, and the Prince gaped for a moment before baring his teeth at him in a wordless snarl and whirling on his heel to stalk to the other side of the courtyard. 

“Hey, I thought you needed help?” The Glaive called behind him. 

Noctis flipped him off over his shoulder without looking back. 

“Have it your way then, little Prince!”

 

Noctis scoffed as he reached the door, which promptly burst open to reveal a grinning Gladio.


	3. Freedom

Noctis sighed in relief as he tipped forward to faceplant into his nice, new and freshly made bed. The sheets smelt faintly floral from whatever Ignis had washed them with, and the Prince rubbed his face into the soft linen, sighing again as he melted into the mattress. 

Around him, his new apartment was blessedly silent after a day of constant hustle and bustle. Gladio and Ignis had helped him move his stuff in, and Prompto had stopped by briefly to help him unpack most of his things. His friend was still being run ragged by Cor, training almost as much as Noctis to catch him up to the others. 

Noctis didn’t envy him. 

The apartment itself was surprisingly modest considering its occupant, but that had been one of the reasons the Prince had picked it. That and it’s close proximity to the mall, his and Prompto’s favorite arcade, and the Citadel. The last one had been a stipulation of his fathers more than a preference of his own, and by the Six if convincing his dad to let him have it hadn’t been the single most tedious endeavor of his life.

He’d almost been shocked when the King had caved. He’d been positive that after the third circle the conversation had gone in his dad would have given him an emphatic no. Instead he’d surprised the Prince by producing a sheaf of apartment listings with an almost smug smile. Behind him, Clarus had rolled his eyes to the heavens.

What.

Noctis, in the end, had been too elated to question it. He was finally going to have his own apartment. He’d finally get some freedom. 

His stomach growled demandingly, and the Prince groaned as he rolled out of the bed. He exited his new room and shuffled his way into the kitchen, stepping around the occasional moving box that had yet to be either emptied or removed. Hopefully Iggy had had the foresight to stock his fridge before he’d left with Gladio for the evening. 

Pulling the fridge door open, Noctis grimaced. Why were there vegetables in his fridge? 

Oh well, looks like he was eating out tonight. He’d spotted a rather promising burger joint a few blocks away earlier in the day. 

Decision made, the Prince retreated into his living room and shoved his feet into his boots before grabbing his keys and wallet. He threw a plain black jacket on and pulled open the door, stepping out into the hall and locking his apartment behind him. 

The air out on the street was pleasantly crisp with his jacket on, and Noctis breathed it in with relish. No Crownsguard, no serving staff, no pressure and no expectations. 

Nirvana. 

“Nice place, highness.” 

Noctis blinked at the sky, then tilted his head to spy someone leaning on the wall of his apartment building. Someone wearing a Glaive uniform. 

“Oh my God you again.” He blurted, and the Glaive smirked. 

“I get that a lot.” The asshole replied, and Noctis scowled before thrusting a finger at him.

“I don’t need a babysitter, Glaive.” The Prince stated. The Glaive’s smirk broadened, and he shrugged.

“Good thing I’m not a babysitter then.” He retorted. Noctis dropped his hand, and contemplated strangulation. 

“You can go.” He said after a beat, and the Glaive nodded once in agreement, braids sliding over his shoulder.

“I could.” He replied, and Noctis rocked back on the balls of his feet. Huh, he hadn’t expected it to be that easy. 

“Ok, go on then.” The Prince ordered, gesturing up the street. The Glaive’s smirk broadened, and Noctis wondered for a moment if it ever left his face. 

“I said I can, not that I would.” Is the almost impish response, and Noctis groaned loudly as he rubbed at his face. This was supposed to be his place, damn it. He was supposed to be free here. But there was a Glaive practically on his doorstep. This stank of his dad. Or Cor. Probably both. 

“Why are you like this?” The Prince mumbled to no one in particular, but probably at the both the Glaive and his dad. 

“Like what?” The taller man asked, raising an eyebrow. Noctis scowled.

“You’re an asshole.” It’s not the first time he’s told the man as much, and he somehow doubted it’d be the last. 

“I thought I was a Glaive?” Is the retort. Noctis scoffed.

“Which is apparently synonymous with asshole.” He snapped, and the Glaive raised a hand to grasp his chin, grey gaze drifting skyward.

“Huh, my captain said the same thing.” The asshole replied, and Noctis shook his head incredulously.

“I’m shocked.” Truely. Where the hell did Drautos find these people. 

“Know what else he said?” The Glaive asked. Did he really want to know?

“What?” He had a feeling he didn’t- 

“Don’t let the Prince out of your sight.” He groaned, and the Glaive grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are going to start getting progressively longer and just a tad more serious the further in we go. This fic is 95% angst free, so don't expect any sudden and heart breaking plot twists. While not all 'funny', it IS all fun. 
> 
> And just fyi? It's going to snowball from here folks.


	4. Heat

Noctis resisted the urge to moan pitifully as he tugged at his shirt, the black material clinging to his skin as he concentrated on putting one boot in front of the other. Gods, he felt like he was dying. 

He’d just finished up a training session with Gladio, and was on his way home from the Citadel. The training had been grueling as ever, his Shield giving no quarter or pity even with the Prince half melted to the floor.

Noctis had grand aspirations for when he finally dragged himself home. He was going to lock his door, climb into his shower and sleep under a steady stream of cold water. Animal’s could hibernate in the winter, and the Prince had every intention of seeing if it was possible to hibernate through record breaking heat waves. 

A stray thought went to his dad, trapped in the throne room and no doubt slowly combusting under all the layers of his royal raiment, but any sympathy he might have had for the King evaporated quite quickly as he rounded a street corner and spotted the newest bane of his existence, the thorn shoved into his side by his very own father. 

“You look like hell, little Prince.” The Glaive remarked casually as he folded his arms across his chest. 

Noctis rubbed sweat from his eyes and squinted at him leaning against a lightpost. The Glaive was clad in full uniform despite the hellish heat, and a small, evil little part of the Prince cackled. He hoped the asshole suffered. 

“Ugh.” He said by way of a retort, and continued on with every intention of ignoring him. The Glaive grinned wordlessly, and fell into easy step beside him. The Prince remained determinedly silent, truthfully not having the energy to deal with the Glaive today, and it was only the rattling and chiming of the buckles and chains on the man's uniform that broke the silence between them as they trekked the short distance to Noctis’ apartment. 

That suited him just fine. 

He didn’t know why the Glaive had posted himself outside of the Citadel to wait for him instead of just meeting him outside the training room, and frankly he didn’t much care. He’d rather the asshole not be around at all, but he knew without needing to ask that either his dad or Cor had assigned the man as his latest personal guard. 

Gladio was his Shield, and would always be his Shield, but he was also the heir to the noble house of Amicitia, and a Crownsguard to boot. Once Noctis was King, Gladio’s sole responsibility would be to him, but for now his duty was to train and help manage the Crownsguard in between bouts of wiping the floor with his Prince. There were many, many qualified guards in the Citadel to keep an eye on the Crown Prince if needed. 

Why it had to be now, and why it had to be this one, Noctis would never know. 

At the very least give him a rotation. If he had to have babysitters at all he’d rather not be stuck with just this one. 

Ugh, did it just get hotter?

“I’m dying.” He moaned before he could stop himself, and beside him the Glaive snorted. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He huffed, and Noctis side eyed the man in his thick, black uniform. Despite his earlier hope that the Glaive was suffering under all those layers, the asshole was looking alarmingly unaffected by the heat. There were no telltale dark patches hinting at sweating through the fabric, and unlike the Prince, his unusual hair was moisture free and swaying against his back with each step, while Noctis’ clung to his forehead and periodically dripped sweat into his eye. 

“You’re not human.” He mumbled incredulously. “You have to be some kind of alien.” Or daemon, from the deepest, blacket pits of Ifrit’s domain. How was not suffering alongside the Prince and just about every other Insomnian? This heat wave was sheer torture. 

“The legal kind at least. I’ve even got papers.” The Glaive replied as he smirked at him, and Noctis tamped down the urge to claw it off his face. 

“What.” He deadpanned. He did not understand this asshole. The shit that came out of his mouth more often than not infuriated or confused him. Noctis grimaced as he wiped his face on his shoulder again. His shirt was practically glued to his skin by this point. 

“Kid, never go to Galahd.” The Glaive said after a moment, and the Prince crunched his face up at the amused tone.

“Why?” 

“They’d be bringing you back in a bucket, little Prince.” Was the amused reply, and Noctis shuddered in horror as he a vague recollection from a past Geography class resurfaced, stating that Galahd was a chain of islands out in the ocean, covered in lush forests and gaping canyons. 

It was also humid as Ifrit’s ballsack. 

“Ugh.” He grunted in dismay. No wonder the asshole was cool as a cucumber. He fucking spawned in the heat.


	5. Magic

Two months.

It’d been two months since he’d managed to escape the Citadel. His apartment was fully furnished and all of his things had found a home in various places throughout. It finally looked like a home, finally felt lived in and finally felt like the escape it was meant to be. 

He was free of his gilded cage at long last.

There were no Crownsguard patrolling the property, no serving staff unobtrusively popping in and out of rooms, no nobles to charm, no media to smile for, and no ceremony to stand on. The apartment was his, it was his own personal space where he could do whatever he wanted and not worry about repercussions, be who ever he wanted without any fallouts. 

So why then, did he still feel trapped?

Sighing, Noctis yanked on his boots and grabbed his jacket, hoping that a walk would clear the sudden and inexplicably claustrophobic feeling. It’s near enough to midnight that going out on his own might be a bad idea, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it formed. 

Almost an entire decade of combat training had made sure he could handle himself just fine, and it rankled him that everyone seemed to forget that. He wasn’t a little kid anymore, he could take care of himself. 

Locking his apartment behind him, Noctis strode quietly up the hall so as not to wake his neighbours, and stepped out into the night air with a sigh. It was warmer out that he’d like, nowhere near as hot as it had been almost a month ago, but he didn’t regret shrugging into his jacket. It was an effective barrier between him and the rest of the world, after all. 

He stepped away from his building and picked a direction to wander in, not in the least bit perturbed by the empty sidewalk and silent roads. There were people out at the late hour, night time joggers, patrons staggering home from bars or couples making their way to and from dates, but they were far and few between. 

Noctis managed to wander aimlessly for almost an hour before the niggling thought that something was missing distracted him from his thoughts. He glanced around suspiciously, half expecting Cor to melt out of the shadows and lecture him, or even that damn Glaive to drop from a rooftop and scare the shit out of him -it had happened before- but neither came to pass. 

The Prince was alone on the streets of Insomnia with nothing but his thoughts for company.

He wanted to count it as a blessing, and did feel that it was. It wasn’t everyday that he got to simply just be himself and not worry about someone correcting his posture or lecturing him on proper etiquette. But at the same time it was kind of...strange. 

He was just too used to there being someone lurking at his shoulder, that suddenly being on his own and responsible for his own welfare was a bit of a shock. It should be freeing, he thought. He was finally allowed a sense of independence, and here he was half hoping the other shoe would drop. 

But he didn’t want it to, not really. Not if it meant the return of the pressure and the expectations. The looming reminder of his station breathing down his neck and slowly closing the walls in. 

Gods, he felt like a conflicted teenager, not knowing what he wanted. 

“You realize that if you keep running off all the time,” Noctis jumped, startled as the familiar voice piped up from his shoulder, and he turned to find the Glaive casually walking at his side, sans uniform. 

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of this.” The man continued with an encompassing gesture to his face and figure. Noctis blinked at him, vaguely concerned that the sight of the asshole didn’t immediately send a wave of irritation through him. 

“How do you keep finding me?” The Prince wondered aloud, and the Glaive smiled, reaching up to tap at the tattoo under his eye.

“Ancient Galahdian tracking magic.” He replied, and Noctis’s eyes widened owlishly.

“What, really?” He’d heard of other countries possessing their own unique magics -nothing compared to the Crystals power, but still fascinating- but he’d never thought it was more than myth and idle chatter. The glaive snorted a laugh and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

“I hid transmitters in your stuff, but wouldn't that be cool.” He answered, and Noctis instantly scowled, familiar irritation finally making a comeback. 

“What.” He deadpanned. If this asshole had bugged his stuff, they’d never find his damn body. The Glaive turned his infuriating smile on him, and Noctis’ scowl deepened as it turned dastardly.

“Have fun figuring out which stuff, little Prince.” He said. The Prince opened and closed his mouth, words stuck in his throat in shock. The audacity of this man!? To bug a Royal!? 

“I’m telling my dad.” He growled, because no. Just no. The Glaive’s smile turned positively impish.

“Be sure to tell him to have fun too. I hear Lord Amicitia knows some tracking magic of his own.” Is the foreboding response, and Noctis gapes at him in askance. 

~In the Citadel

King Regis sighed in relief as he stepped out into the private gardens hidden away behind the Citadel, only to startle as his Shield materialized out of the greenery. 

“Oh, Clarus. I was just taking an evening stroll.” He said with a benign smile. Never mind that it was midnight and well past his ‘bedtime’. 

“Uh huh.” Clarus hummed, unimpressed, and Regis tightened his grip on his cane before slumping. 

“How did you find me.” He asked resignedly. Clarus smirked.

“Magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thing's are slowly starting to get more serious. Until they're not. Poor Regis.
> 
> Comments are love! <3


	6. Orders

When Nyx had woken up with a particularly painful crick in his neck that morning, he’d taken it as an ill omen for the rest of his day.

In actuality he’d fallen asleep on his chair; waking up sprawled on his single seater with his knee practically lodged in his throat and an empty beer bottle digging into his ass, and sometime during the night one of his braids had somehow managed to get caught on the old upholstery. Great. 

All in all, not an unusual way for him to wake up. Yes, he had a perfectly serviceable bed taking pride of place in his apartment, and if Lib’s- or Six forbid, Crowe found out he spent most of his nights doing irreparable damage to his spinal column scrunching up in his chair instead of using it? He’d never hear the end of it from Libertus, and Crowe would be liable to punch him. Hard. 

Probably in the face, too. 

There wasn’t anything wrong with his bed, it was actually decently comfortable; one of the few creature comforts he’d spent extra gil on for quality, it even had soft sheets and the fluffiest pillows Crowe could smuggle into his apartment. 

But most nights Nyx just didn’t want all the empty space.

And so began the ill fated day. 

Waking up with a sore neck, fighting a chair for his hair back, forgetting a towel when he’d gone for his shower -resulting in a nude run through his apartment that he normally wouldn’t have cared about up until he’d almost slipped- and finding out that he’d exhausted his supply of cheap coffee. 

When he’d finally gotten out the door to make for the Glaive HQ, Nyx had been optimistic that the day would improve, despite the start from hell. Honestly, he hadn’t started off a day that bad in years.

He should have known it would only get worse. 

It was a Thursday, and he was slated to train the rookies. Not too bad in and of itself, but by lunchtime it had proven to be a deciding factor in the worst day since The Incident.

He’d had to catch two baby glaives after they’d miscalculated their warps, almost taken a training dagger to the head when another rookie had failed to look before he threw. He’d had to throw up a shield when one of Crowe’s rookie Mage’s had almost blown them all sky high, and he’d adamantly decided to burn his boots and buy a new set after they’d been thrown up on not once, not twice, but four Gods be damned times when his batch of trainees had proven to have weak stomachs after their first introduction to warping. 

By the time he’d wrapped up the training session and kicked the rookies to the locker rooms, Nyx had convinced himself that he’d probably done something to offend some obscure Lucian God. 

Then his earpiece crackled to life and the glaive was informed in no uncertain terms that Drautos wanted him in his office yesterday. The Galahdian barely resisted the urge to groan his suffering aloud. What had he done now?

So it was a grumbling Nyx that pushed into the Captain’s office ten minutes after he’d been called. 

“Nice of you to finally join us, Ulric.” Drautos intoned from behind his desk, and Nyx was startled to see Clarus Amicitia of all people, standing beside the Captain’s desk and leveling the newly arrive glaive with an unimpressed frown. 

“My apologies, sirs.” Nyx stated belatedly, mildly thrown by the unexpected appearance of the King’s Shield. The older man rarely left the King’s side; to see him here in HQ- so far from the Citadel and the King, was nothing short of astounding. And alarming, when he thought about it.

Drautos ignored the apology in favor of further ruining the glaives day. 

“It seems you’ve been reassigned, Ulric. Effective immediately.” Nyx blinked, thrown once again.

“Am I being punished for something?” He asked as he quickly thought back over the last few days; just in case he had actually done something to warrant punishment. 

Drautos’ face turned sour, and he glanced once at the man remaining silent by his desk before shaking his head.

“No. A situation has arisen and your...unique talents have qualified you for the task.” The Captain’s face pinched further at the words, and Nyx felt his lips twitch up at the corner. It was a normal day in the Kingsglaive if Titus Drautos was salty over the existence of one Nyx Ulric. 

“The situation, sir?” Nyx asked as he settled into a loose parade rest. 

“The Prince has been slipping his guard detail, and there are concerns for his safety.” Drautos replied, and Nyx suddenly felt his stomach sink a little as Clarus Amicitia took over. 

“His abilities make it difficult for the Crownsguard to keep a dependable eye on him. They can’t warp after him when he bolts, and he uses that to his advantage.” The Shield sighed. Nyx resisted the urge to snort. What a cheeky little shit. 

“I’m not seeing where I fit into all of this, sir.” He really sort of did, actually. He was capable of warping after the wayward Prince and then some if he tried to fly the coop.

Drautos grunted, and suddenly seemed pained as he said;

“Until such a time as the Prince’s...rebellion is curbed, you’ve been assigned to him as a personal guard.” 

And just like that, Nyx was absolutely done with today. 

Possibly indefinite babysitting duty? 

Really? 

He turned to Clarus. 

“Pardon me, sir, but doesn’t the Prince have a Shield? His own guards?” It was a valid question. Everyone knew that Clarus’ son- Gladiolus, had been raised as the future King’s Sworn Shield, and he also knew that the young Prince’s advisor was a perfectly capable Crownsgaurd. Surely one of them would be better suited to babysitting the little shit. Abilities be damned. 

Nyx had no problem fighting for his King. He was proud to be a Glaive; loyal and willing to take up the cause of the foreign King who had saved him and welcomed his countrymen into his walls. But this? It just...seemed like a waste. 

“Indeed, but while they are skilled, they have no hope of maintaining an effective detail if the Prince insists on abusing his powers to run off.” The Shield replied, before his exasperated blue gaze hardened and pinned Nyx to the floor, as if sensing the Galahdian’s doubts. 

“The Prince is capable of defending himself, but we cannot afford the risk of anything befalling him. You will guard him with your life, Nyx Ulric.” The Glaive nodded solemnly, before asking; 

“When do I start?”

Clarus smirked.

“You’ll be posted at the Prince's suites at dusk.” The Shield replied before taking his leave, and Nyx barely held in a groan as the door closed behind him. Something told him he was in for a long night.

Behind his desk, Drautos eyed him shrewdly.

“Do not let the Prince out of your sight, Ulric.” The ‘or else’ didn’t need to be said for Nyx to hear it loud and clear. 

“Yes’sir.” 

All things considered, his first night on the job could have been worse. Who knew sneaking up on royalty could be so rewarding?

The little Prince certainly had a set of pipes on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get a glimpse into the life of a Prince's bane. 
> 
> Comments are love! <3


	7. Weird

Noctis was having a Bad Day. 

It’d been going relatively well at first; he’d woken up somewhat on time, showered, dressed, eaten the breakfast Iggy had dropped off for him and then made his way to the Citadel for his weekly sit-ins on the Council. In a surprising twist the meeting hadn’t been as boring as all of the ones previous, and the Prince had actually found himself interested in the proceedings, had even spoken up and added his two gil once or twice. 

His dad had positively beamed at him. 

Lunch had been spent with the King after, a rare and enjoyable treat considering his dad’s usually hectic schedule, and Noctis had been able to fully catch up with his dad for the first time in months. 

Overall he’d been content with a good day. 

But then it had...gone pear shaped. 

After lunch with his dad, he’d gone down to the training rooms to get in some warp practice, and almost run face first into a Glaive of all things. Not The Glaive, but A Glaive. He’d been able to tell the difference even with the hood up.

The asshole had blue-grey eyes, and Noctis had been able to tell that the Glaive down in the training room had brown eyes. He’d also been a touch broader in the shoulders, and had smelt vaguely sour whereas his stalker Glaive carried the slightest hint of sandalwood. It had actually...put him on edge. 

How and why he was so quick to notice all of this Noctis refused to wonder about. He wasn’t unobservant like Gladio sometimes like to accuse him of -he noticed things damn it- but he really did not want to know why his brain had compared fucking eyes and scents. That was just weird.

Weird as it was however, it had saved his life. 

Turned out the oddly placed Glaive had been an imposter, and had promptly tried to kill him. 

If Noctis’ subconscious hadn’t been weird and catalogued those particular traits, then hit the ‘well shit’ button when not finding them in the Glaive, the Prince might very well have taken a dagger to the stomach. 

As it stood however, he’d been on edge, and as such, tensed for motion. 

He’d phased around the attack and lodged his knee in the guys groin, before driving his hooded head into the nearest solid surface, which just happened to be the very solid concrete floor. Amazingly, the ‘Glaive’ hadn’t been knocked out instantly. The blow had dazed him long enough for a pair of Crownsguard to come hurtling around the corner to apprehend him. 

As they’d restrained the imposter, he’d spat at Noctis’ feet and slurred something in another language at him. Something that had sounded vaguely like Galahdian, actually. 

One of the Crownsguard -Fortis or something, he thought- had bounced the guys head off the ground a second time in response, before he and his partner had dragged the would-be assassin off to probably never be seen again. 

Frankly, the only thing the Prince found himself concerned with afterwards, was the inevitable blow out the attempted assassination was going to cause. The media was going to have a field day, the public would need to be reassured and an investigation would have to be launched to find out of the imposter was working alone or a part of a group, and if there would be any further attempts on the Crown Prince’s life- or Six forbid, the King’s. 

His dad was going to have a hernia over it all, and Noctis kind of wanted to join him. 

So, once all was said and done, Noctis was not surprised in the least when he was escorted to his rooms in the Citadel and found another Glaive standing in front of his door. 

One that had stupid blue-grey eyes and smelt of sandalwood. 

His day had started so well, too, never mind the attempt on his life. 

Looking up from his phone, Noctis eyed the Glaive now posted inside his suite thoughtfully. 

“Hey, you're from Galahd, right?” He asked after a moment. The Glaive cocked a brow at him from his place by the wall.

“I certainly hope so. Why?” The taller man replied, and Noctis dropped his phone onto the coffee table.

“What does 'suka mean?” He asked after a beat. He’d tried to find a translation or definition on his phone, weirdly curious about it, but either his spelling had been off or it was slang. The Glaive actually balked at him. Oh dear, now he really wanted to know.

“Uh...where'd you hear that, your highness?” The Glaive queried in an oddly strained voice. Noctis ignored it and forced himself to shrug casually.

“Some guy. He just sort of looked at me and said it. What does it mean?” It was kind of the truth? The other man didn’t respond for a while, and the Prince squinted at him in suspicion. 

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” It had to be, to warrant that kind of reaction from the asshole. 

“Well?” The Glaive swallowed and shook his head, as if clearing it, before informing him in a tone laced with restrained incredulity;

“I'm sorry, I'm still trying to process someone actually having the balls to call the Prince of Lucis a little bitch.” What. 

“What.” He deadpanned. The Glaive looked everywhere but at him, and Noctis spotted a telltale spasm in the man’s neck, right along the tattoo trailing down his throat. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He hissed. Despite the warning and probably implied threat however, a strained ‘snerk’ still left the Glaive’s mouth. 

“Ha ha.” The Prince grumbled as he snatched up his phone and turned away from the too amused Glaive. He wasn’t overly bothered, he’d been called worse things in his life- but what did sort of annoy him was that he’d had to resort to asking the asshole about it. 

And of course the fucker found it hilarious. 

“Sorry, little Prince.” The Glaive eventually managed after several minutes spent in silence. What was he even apologizing for? The fact that someone had called him such a thing? That’d he’d had to repeat it? Or that he’d laughed? Noctis turned a wicked eye on the other man.

“Now who’s the bitch.” He said, and smirked when the Glaive’s somewhat repentant face turned stunned.


	8. Stalker

Despite the rather poor assassination attempt the previous fortnight, Noctis was back in his apartment and free of his escorts. The previous two weeks had been an effort in maintaining his sanity with not just the Glaive tailing him, but also Gladio and, at least for a few hours, Cor the Immortal himself. 

Don’t get him wrong, Gladio was his friend and Cor was...well he was Cor, but Noctis didn’t need nor want them practically in his back pocket 24/7. 

His only consolation during the time had been that his dad hadn’t fared much better. Clarus had stuck to the King like particularly tenacious glue and there had been a small contingent of Crownsguard circling him at all times.

And people wondered where Noctis got his bitch face from, really. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his dad roll his eyes so much.

To be honest Noctis figured he’d gotten the easier deal. 

Ignis, genius that he was had handled the media, and soon enough Insomnia had settled back down.

The investigation had revealed that the imposter had been working alone, but that was about as much as anyone told the Prince. He tried not to let that annoy him -it was his life that had been threatened, the least they could do was tell him why- but didn’t find himself surprised. 

He also didn’t find himself surprised that when he left his apartment to hunt down dinner -Ignis was still busy with the media, and his fridge still full of greens- he spotted a shadow loitering outside. He huffed as he fished his keys out of his pocket. Maybe if he was quick and made a bee-line for the Star he could ditch the Glaive.

Except even as he strode quickly to his car, the shadow detached from the apartment wall and met him by the drivers door.

“No.” The Prince grumbled as he tried to yank the door open, only for the Glaive’s bulk to block it. 

“Yes.” The asshole retorted with a pointedly raised brow. Noctis sighed loudly in annoyed exasperation before slapping the keys against the man’s chest, pointedly ignoring the lack of uniform beneath his hand. 

“Hit so much as a pothole and they’ll never find your body, Glaive.” He deadpanned, and the Glaive smirked. 

“Noted.” He replied, and Noctis reluctantly slunk around to the passenger door to throw himself in while the Glaive gracefully slid into the driver's seat. “So, where to, little Prince?” The asshole asked once he’d adjusted the seat to his liking started the ignition. Noctis glared at him from the corner of his eye, before sighing.

“I was gonna get some dinner.” He admitted, before throwing his hands up to gesture at the streets beyond the windshield. “Surprise me.” The Glaive’s lips twitched at the order, and Noctis crossed his arms and slumped into his seat. He knew he probably looked like a petulant teenager, but he really didn’t care. 

“Seatbelt.” The asshole reminded, and Noctis rolled his eyes before pulling the strap over his shoulder. He hated being a passenger in his own car, damn it. 

Once his seatbelt was secured, the Glaive eased them out of the parking lot beside the apartment building and pulled out onto the street, and it took a moment for the Prince to realize he was taking them towards the freeway that lead out of the city center. Huh, so much for just swinging around the corner and grabbing a burger. 

The ride was silent, and Noctis tried to pass the time by watching Insomnia fly past through the window, only to quickly grow bored of it. He contemplated turning on the stereo to fill the silence, which to him was starting to become stifling, but ultimately decided against it. Instead he turned to observe the Glaive, who kept his eyes on the road.

He looked odd out of uniform. It wasn’t the first time Noctis had seen him dressed down, he’d been confronted with the asshole a few times at night without it, but more often than not he saw the man during the day when he was strictly on the clock. Why he sometimes chose to go without it during the later hours the Prince had no idea.

The jeans and black top were kind of an improvement, he thought. The Glaive may have been a complete and utter asshole, but he was a fine looking asshole. Not that Noctis would ever admit that out loud, though.

“I’m curious.” The Prince found himself saying as his eyes trailed up. 

“Hmm?” The Glaive hummed, not taking his eyes off the road.

“What’s with the hair?” Noctis asked after a beat, deciding to just get it over with. He had been curious, for a while now. Undercuts weren’t unusual, Gladio had one after all, but the braids weren’t exactly a typical Lucian style. He knew the Glaive was from Galahd, but was it a Galahdian thing or a personal preference? 

Why did he even care?

“The rest of me, evidently.” The asshole replied, and Noctis rolled his eyes.

“Hardy fucking har. I meant the braids, asshole. Is it a Galahdian thing?” He internally winced. That had come out a little more brattish than he’d intended. Oops. The Glaive didn’t surprise with his equally brattish response;

“What’s with the gel, is it a Lucian thing?” The Prince snorted and resisted the urge to pat at his hair self-consciously. So he was judicious with his hair, so what. 

“I’m trying to be nice here.” Noctis muttered, and was almost surprised when he realized that yeah, he actually kind of was. The Glaive had been practically in his pocket for months now, and while they’d shared numerous conversations over that time, not one of them had been without some kind of snark. Honestly, the Prince wouldn’t be surprised if the Glaive hated him, which he supposed was only fair considering he’d despised the man at first too. 

He was weirdly used to him now, though. How that translated to him no longer despising the air the guy breathed? Not a clue, but apparently that was that. 

“By asking culturally insensitive questions?” The Glaive retorted without looking at him, and Noctis felt his mouth go dry. Had it been? Shit, he’d always sucked at the diplomacy thing. Ignis was constantly telling him he was an international incident waiting to happen. He hadn’t meant to-

The Prince was yanked out of his panicked thoughts by laughter, and he gaped at the asshole driving his car. The Glaive finally looked away from the road to glance at him, before snorting and doing it again. 

“Why are you laughing?” Noctis hissed by the third glance and snort. The Glaive’s eyes practically danced with his mirth, the skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes as he grinned. 

“Your face.” The Glaive snorted in reply, and the Prince scowled. Ok, never mind. He despised him again. All was right in the world.

“I legitimately hate you.” He informed the asshole, and the Glaive grinned.

“Sorry, you just make it so easy.” He explained. Noctis scowled harder. 

“I do not.” He denied. Blue-grey eyes glanced at him in amusement. 

“You really do. Teasing you is the highlight of my week.” The asshole revealed, and the Prince abandoned his scowl to instead raise both eyebrows in surprise as he scented an opening. 

“Oh, so you enjoy babysitting duty?” He wondered casually, and was instantly gratified when the Glaive’s grin dropped into something dangerously close to a pout.

“I’m not your babysitter.” Noctis lowered one brow and cocked the other higher. 

“Stalker then?” He replied while valiantly holding off a smirk. The Glaive glanced at him again in askance. 

“I’m not stalking you either.” He denied. Noctis tilted his head and said;

“Hate to break it to you Glaive, but you really are.” The other man shifted in the driver seat and shook his head.

“I’m really not. That’d be creepy, and I’m not a creep. I’m a Glaive.” The last part was punctuated with a thumb jabbed into his own chest, and Noctis smirked. He’d finally found a weakness.

“Who stalks royalty.” He stated, only barely resisting making it sing-song. Wow, who knew riling the man up would so fun? Now he kind of knew why the asshole did it to him. 

“I’m not stalking you.” The Glaive reiterated emphatically, glancing at him again incredulously. Noctis went in for the kill.

“Then what would you call this? Cuz if it's not babysitting or stalking, what is it?” 

“Guard detail.” The Galahdian ground out, and Noctis smirked. Was he actually getting flustered over this?

“I think you’re in denial. You’re clearly stalking me, and you enjoy it. You said it yourself.” The Glaive’s knuckles turned white against the steering wheel, and he shook his head, the beads in his braids clicking together as he grunted.

“I’m not-” He stopped, before slumping into the seat and waving a hand. “Fine. I’m stalking you. Happy?” He asked, taking his eyes off the road to level Noctis with a frankly impressive bitch face. Noctis actually smiled.

“Ecstatic. You're not a very good stalker.” This was just too easy. “As the stalkee I'm not supposed to know you're stalking me. And yet, here we are. Having this conversation.” He finished with a gesture between them. The Glaive exhaled roughly, clearly fighting the urge to reach over and strangle him. Noctis grinned. Finally, the tables turn. He opened his mouth to rub more salt into the wound, only to be interrupted by the Glaive.

“You know what just ask about my gods damn hair.”


	9. Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smol chapter is smol

Noctis slouched against the kitchen bench and stabbed a fork into his pancakes somewhat violently. 

“My, someone's a mite surly this morning.” The Prince glanced up from victimising his food to level his advisor with a glare. Ignis raised a brow in response as he sipped at his coffee, as immaculately dressed as always while the Prince still wore his rumpled sleeping clothes

“Something to do with why you were out late last night perhaps?” The blond asked leadingly. Probably a valid question, but one Noctis refused to answer. The events of last night would never be spoken of, to Iggy or anyone else, ever. What had started as a somewhat amusing car ride to fetch dinner with the Glaive had quickly spiralled into a-

Actually, he vowed never to even think about it. 

“I legitimately hate him.” Noctis blurted after a moment, and Ignis placed his coffee back on the bench. 

“And who has had the misfortune of attracting your ire this time, highness?” The chamberlain asked as he cut into his breakfast. Noctis shoved a piece of pancake into his mouth and chewed viciously. Ignis sighed at the display, and the Prince barely resisted sticking his tongue out at him. 

“That damn Glaive.” He revealed after swallowing his food, not really wanting to push his luck with bad table manners with Iggy barely four feet away. He didn’t want cutlery thrown at him this early, ok. 

“Ah, you mean Sir Ulric.” The blond stated, and Noctis slowed his chewing for a moment. Ulric huh? That...sounded vaguely familiar, but who cared, the Glaive was The Glaive because he was an asshole and Noctis wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of learning or speaking his name. Yes, he was indeed that petty. 

“Come now, he can't be all that terrible.” Ignis said after another minute of silence. Noctis dropped his fork to throw his hands up in agitation.

“He's an asshole!” He exclaimed. “And the next time he stalks me I'm setting his pants on fire.” He vowed, glaring darkly. Only to blink and narrow his eyes suspiciously as Ignis looked away and took a hasty sip of his coffee. “Whats that look?” He asked. Ignis glanced at him from the corner of his eye, eyebrows raised in a mask of innocence. 

“What look?” The chamberlain asked over his mug, green eyes amused. The Prince leaned over the table to jab a finger in his direction.

“That look! The one that says you’re laughing at me!” He hissed. Ignis lowered his mug and carefully placed it on the benchtop once again before gracing him with a grave expression. 

“This is hardly a laughing matter, highness.” The blond stated seriously, before adding. “A man's pants are at stake. Mayhaps you should try pulling his hair instead?” Noctis stared at his advisor, eyebrows drawn into a confused frown.

“Why would i do that?” The Prince asked, and Ignis leaned back on his stool to cross his arms.

“Well, going right for his clothing seems a touch forward of you, wouldnt you say?” The blond asked somewhat rhetorically, and Noctis dropped his fork.

“What.” He deadpanned. Ignis smiled and shook his head.

“Ignore me, highness. A bit of an inside joke if you will.” The blond said, picking up his coffee. Noctis scowled hard at him, hunching over his breakfast. 

“What is it with people and making fun of me, these days?” He grumbled. Ignis, the ass, reached over and patted his shoulder. 

“I’m afraid you make it too easy, Noct.” His chamberlain replied sympathetically. Noctis hunched lower.

“I do not.” He wasn’t pouting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iggy pls


End file.
